I went out rowing today in a quad, for what’s probably my last practice with this crew. We have our last race together Saturday. The weather was glorious, smelling like fall, with golden leaves blazing from the trees overhead and carpeting the river. I would’ve been sniffly about it, but you can’t cry and row well at the same time (I have reason to know) and it was more important to row well.
Tomorrow I have to rush over to a different buildig that’s very hard to get to, rush back, go to a going-away borrel (drink) for Rudder, then we drive to Amsterdam, where we will attend cultural training class Thursday and Friday and go to the race Saturday. So could you all kindly make believe I’ve written a beautiful elegiac entry about today’s row? I’ll get to it tomorrow if I can, but the odds aren’t good, and right now I have to go pack. Thanks.